One Hand On The Trigger
by LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou
Summary: Multi-Chapter-Story/-"And what is it that you do, Emily?" Ian drawls, his blue eyes searching hers. Cold and dangerous. His gun raised. There was no heaven waiting for her, only hell. But she'd fallen from grace a long time ago and she wasn't afraid of getting burned anymore. "I'm working for Interpol," she breathes, selling him her soul with a smile on her face.-/dark&twisty
1. One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: dark &twisty and all that because it's Emily&Ian after all (slightly Emily&Aaron/Emily&Spencer) (set in the middle of season 4) /multi-chapter-story**

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 _ **This is for the wonderful greeneyedconstellations: Thank you for everything.**_

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 **One Hand On The Trigger**

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 _-"And if I'm right, we're headed straight for hell."- Miranda Lambert_

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 **ONE**

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 **II**

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He's hiding in the shadows, watching her like the ghost he has become.

Asleep she almost looks innocent. Her flawless body tangled between the white satin sheets, the moonlight kissing her naked skin. Her dark hair spread out on the pillow.

He's longing to touch her, longing to make her his again, but it's neither the time nor the place. He shouldn't even be there, but he had to see her. _Had to make sure._

He crosses the room slowly, wishing he could just lay down next to her. Bending forward, he allows his fingers to caress her skin ever so gently.

"I'm coming for you, love," he whispers hoarsely, his lips moving close against her ear. "I'm coming, love."

.

She wakes with a start, reaching for the gun on her nightstand without a second thought, overwhelmed by the feeling of someone watching her.

She forces herself to lie still and stay quiet, her eyes scanning the room, but finding nothing.

With her gun raised between steady hands, Emily slips out from under the covers, making her way through her apartment and searching every room and every corner.

But there's no one there. No one but her and the shadows.

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 **III**

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He's observing from afar, hidden in plain sight in the crowd gathered around the crime scene.

She's crouched down next to the dead woman in the dirt, talking to one of her team, her face hidden behind a curtain of silky black hair. She seems tired, her movements just the tiniest bit unsteady, and he's sure she hasn't slept in days.

With a smile on his lips he draws backwards, whispering a long forgotten name.

 _Lauren._

.

She spins around instantly, her hands already reaching for her gun, her dark eyes searching the people gathered around the crime scene. Without really knowing it, she's searching for his face.

Searching for that crooked smile and that all too familiar pair of liquid blue eyes.

But he's not there.

 _Of course not._

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 **IV**

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It's dark, the building mostly deserted, except for them.

Ian's watching through the blinds, and from where he's standing he has a perfect view of Emily, who's pushed down on the polished wooden desk of her supervisor. He holds her close, his hands tangled in her dark hair and his lips trailing down her neck.

 _It's not enough_ , Ian can tell. He hears the frustration in her voice when she begs him to _do her harder, faster,_ sees the way she has his tie curled around her hand so tightly it cuts into her skin. She's pulling him closer with her legs wrapped around his waist, closer and closer, almost frantic, but finding no relief.

She's losing her patience along with her temper, and he watches as Emily slips her free hand down between her legs, trying to push herself over the edge.

"Soon, love," Ian promises, his lips moving without making a sound. "Soon."

.

Emily's biting her lip to keep herself from crying out in frustration, piercing the tender flesh with her teeth until she draws blood.

It's not enough.

His hands are too soft, his movements too slow, too controlled, too eager to please her. It's not what she wants. It's not what she needs.

 _It's all wrong._

Before she can stop herself she lowers her hand, reaching down between her legs, too far gone to care, too desperate to wait a second longer. But it's not enough to bring her the sweet release she's longing for,and she feels angry tears start to well up in her eyes.

"Emily," Aaron whispers, all hushed and loving and she knows he's close.

It's a shadow out of the corner of her eye that makes her turn her head. But there's no one there, the office deserted at this time of the day.

Aaron _comes_ and Emily shuts her eyes and pretends she does too.

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 **V**

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He's in the parking garage, hiding behind a black SUV. His eyes following Emily on her way through the dark. She looks angry. Furious.

Someone's calling her name, begging her to slow down. It's not the one she _fucks_ , but the one who's got a crush on her.

Ian spots her shake her head, motioning for the boy to leave her alone. He looks thrown, and for some reason, Emily does too.

She says something else, something that sounds pretty rude even from afar, before she turns, melting into the shadows. The boy blinks, confused and clearly startled, but he keeps looking anyway.

 _Starstruck._

Ian can't blame him.

.

With her hands around the steering wheel, Emily's sitting in her car, her eyes closed shut.

She knows he's out there, knows he's hiding in the shadows of the FBI parking garage. Watching. _Waiting._

And she knows he's been doing it for quite some time, knows for sure now because Clyde just called to let her know that Ian Doyle had vanished from prison.

 _I'm coming for you, love. I'm coming._

He couldn't have chosen a better time.

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 **VI**

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He's leaning against the bar, watching her dance, watching as her body moves perfectly in sync to the music blaring from the speakers.

She's wearing a skimpy black dress that's barely a dress at all, hugging her flawless body in such a sinful way it's impossible to look away. She's not dancing alone, but with a younger woman, blonde hair, blue eyes and just as horny as Ian.

He's moving towards them slowly, taking in every move from the way Emily sways her hips ever so slightly, to the way she licks her lips, and all he wants to do is _fuck_ her right then and there.

He slips his arm around her waist in one smooth move, pulling her backwards against his chest.

"Don't make a sound," he tells her firmly, his lips close against her ear while he pulls her with him and away from the dance floor. When they reach a corner, he spins her around, pushing her up and back against the wall.

"Hello, love," he murmurs thickly, before crashing his lips against hers.

.

She doesn't stop him.

Not when he pushes her back up against the wall, not when he starts kissing her so hard that she tastes blood on her tongue, and most certainly not when he slips his hand under the hem of her little black dress, making her _come hard and fast_ in the blink of an eye.

"You missed me, huh," Ian chuckles against her lips, when she tries to keep him from withdrawing his hand. He does anyway and Emily can't help but beg.

"Please," she whispers. "Ian, please."

It's been so long.

 _And she's not done yet._

"Patience, love," Ian mocks her tenderly, before he disappears into the crowd and out of sight.

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 **I**

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 _"My name isn't Lauren," she states, her voice firm and her gaze steady when she bends over the table, close and closer until she can taste the bourbon on his breath. "My name is Emily."_

 _"And what is it that you do, Emily?" Ian drawls, his blue eyes searching hers. Cold and dangerous. His gun raised._

 _There was no heaven waiting for her, only hell. But she'd fallen from grace a long time ago and she wasn't afraid of getting burned anymore._

 _"I'm working for Interpol," she breathes, selling him her soul with a smile on her face._

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 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**


	2. Two

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: dark &twisty and all that because it's Emily&Ian after all (slightly Emily&Aaron/Emily&Spencer) (set in the middle of season 4) **

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 **One Hand On The Trigger**

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 _-"And if I'm right, we're headed straight for hell."- Miranda Lambert_

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 **TWO**

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Emily's late to work for the first time ever.

She has no reason for it, neither a good nor a bad one, just no reason at all. But it's not like she can actually say that when she finally rushes into the conference room this morning.

"You're late, Prentiss," Aaron states the obvious, and Emily's tempted to say something sassy.

She doesn't.

"Yeah, sorry," she murmurs, not sorry at all, while she sits down next to Spencer, reaching for the file on the table in front of him. He looks like he's going to protest, but then he doesn't.

She's skipping the details, only half listening to what the others are saying. Her mind elsewhere.

"Wheels up in thirty," Aaron finishes after what feels like a lifetime, but couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. A stern expression on his face, all serious and business-like, and Emily feels the urge to wipe it off.

"Don't you ever get tired of that line?" It's slipped from her lips before she can stop herself. The room is plunged into silence almost immediately. Everyone staring at her. And Aaron.

"Excuse me?"

Emily briefly wonders if the look he gives her now is the one he uses on Jack, because where it might work on a three year old, it definitely doesn't work on her.

"You heard me," she says. Unblinking, her voice all calm and innocent. Sickeningly sweet.

Morgan is the first one to bolt from the room. And it's almost funny, because if Emily had to bet she'd have said said it would be Spencer.

"Everyone out," Aaron states, close to losing his calm. Emily can't help but smile.

"What are you doing?" he asks as soon as they're alone, the door firmly shut, the rest of their team locked out.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Emily prompts. He looks startled and a little confused and Emily _fucking_ loves the fact that he can't read her at all.

She gets up slowly, noticing the way his hands hold on to the table in a death grip. Almost as if he doesn't trust himself around her anymore.

"You should punish me," she half whispers, bending closer. "Don't you think?" She's crossing a line, Emily knows, _fuck_ , she's crossing a thousand. And even though she knows it's never going to happen, because that's just not who he is, she can't stop thinking about Aaron tying her up and-

"What exactly is going on in here?"

They both turn around in unison and Emily has a hard time keeping a straight face, especially when she notices that Aaron has a problem hiding something entirely else.

"Well, Agent Hotchner? Agent Prentiss?" Director Strauss keeps staring back at them with an expression Emily doesn't bother reading.

"I was showing Agent Hotchner how I plan to lure our unsub into a trap, Ma'am," Emily answers with the most serious look she can muster.

It wasn't his career she wanted to _fuck_ with, only her own.

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Twenty-four hours later they're on the jet back to D.C. Case closed, the bad guy locked up, his latest victim saved just in time. _Thanks to Emily._

"You did good," Aaron tells her, before he sits down across from her. She can feel the others watching, even though they're pretending not to. She says nothing, only regards him with a long look.

"Emily-" he starts, and then stops. Shaking his head slightly, as if letting go of an idea.

"Garcia said someone from Interpol keeps trying to reach you," he finally settles on telling her, even when it's obvious it's not what he really wanted to talk about. "You might want to call him back," he adds, but only half-heartedly.

Emily nods. "I will," she says, keeping a blank expression, while Aaron leaves her sitting on her own.

.

On her way home she stops at a bar. She keeps sitting at the counter, drinking, until she's way passed the point of being sober but still not quite drunk yet.

Driving home on her own is the most stupid thing she's done in years, it's reckless and dangerous, not only for herself but everyone else, and where the sane part of her feels awful for doing it, there's another part that hopes she'll get caught.

She doesn't.

When she stumbles through her door and into her apartment, Ian's already there.

"Did you have fun, love?" he asks with a smug look on his face, seated casually on her couch, reading the _bloody_ newspaper.

"How did you get in here?" Emily wonders, her voice slightly slurred. She gets how stupid that question is, when Ian cocks an eyebrow at her.

"Never mind," she murmurs, slipping out of her boots and her clothes, undressing as she goes. She feels his eyes watching her all the way to her bathroom and she takes great pleasure in throwing the door shut right in his face.

To her surprise, _and delight_ , he's still there when she makes her way out, freshly showered and naked.

"Does this mean you're mad at me?" he asks, looking her up and down in exactly the right way. A way that's all possessive and dark and dangerous and _Ian Doyle._

Instead of answering him right away, she grabs him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up from the couch and with her in the direction of her bedroom.

"You owe me," she states, all calm and poised, settling down on the edge of her bed, motioning for him to get down on his knees.

Ian chuckles, his blue eyes finding hers. "You know what you want, don't you, love?" There's a threatening edge to his tone, but she couldn't have cared less. She's going to regret it, _later,_ she knows, but she's not afraid. _Excited maybe._

When he finally goes down on her, Emily finds herself thinking that it's been worth the wait after all.

.

By the time he's done with her she's barely able to breathe, her wrists sore, her whole body hurting in way that's both satisfying and appalling. She's tired and worn out in a way she hasn't been in years and she's sure she won't be able to walk properly for the next few days.

"He can't give you that, can he," Ian states mockingly, and Emily doesn't need to ask whom he's talking about.

"You watched us," she slurs, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

Ian laughs, his hand pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. "There wasn't much to see. Besides your misery of course."

She wants to say something, but somehow she's lost the ability to talk. Her mind too tired to form actual words.

"You got what you wanted," he whispers almost lovingly, his lips pressed against her ear. "Now it's my turn."

It takes her too long to make sense of his words and by the time she does, he's already gone.

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Emily's late to work a second time that week.

She has more than one reason for that, but none she could say out loud when she finally rushes into the conference room that morning.

"You're late again, Prentiss," Aaron states the obvious, and Emily's instantly tempted to tell him why. She doesn't.

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 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**


	3. Three

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: dark &twisty and all that because it's Emily&Ian after all (slightly Emily&Aaron/Emily&Spencer) (set in the middle of season 4)**

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 **One Hand On The Trigger**

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 _-"And if I'm right, we're headed straight for hell."- Miranda Lambert_

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 **Three**

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Looking through Emily's things isn't as interesting as Ian thought it would be.

The most personal things are left in her nightstand and he's not really surprised to find a collection of _toys_ right next to a gun.

 _There's such a small line between pleasure and pain, right, love?_

He's listening to the messages on her answering machine as he keeps searching through her wardrobe, chuckling darkly at how desperate her Interpol friends sound. He doesn't think twice before deleting them all.

Her clothes are ordered in colors, everything neat and perfect, impersonal, just like the rest of her apartment. There are no pictures, no photo albums or yearbooks. No hidden boxes filled with bits and pieces of her past. She doesn't even own a plant, her whole life nothing but a facade, nothing but a set up.

He finds her safe behind a few books, trying the first combination he can think of. There's a smug smile playing on his face when the door opens with a soft click.

Declan's birthday.

 _How sweet._

.

Louise doesn't even blink when she opens the door.

She steps aside to let him in, tells him calmly that Declan isn't there.

"I know," Ian muses, following Louise through the hallway and into the kitchen. "It's why I came."

He leans back against the counter, watching as Louise returns to chopping vegetables.

"Tom won't let the boy go easily," she states, her voice even, her accent almost gone.

"I'll take care of that," Ian reassures her, even though he already knows he won't. Emily would. She just didn't know it yet. "Emily's coming with us," he adds, reaching for a slice of carrot. "We're leaving together this time."

"What if she doesn't want to?" Louise asks, slowly lifting her head to look at him. "She's got a life of her own."

Ian chuckles. "You call that a life?"

There's a flicker of fear in Louise eyes, before she turns, staring back down at her chopping board.

"When are we leaving?"

"Soon," Ian answers, making his way over to the fridge to reach for one of the photographs pinned to the door. It's the same picture he'd found in Emily's safe, Declan wearing a dirt streaked soccer tricot, grinning happily into the camera with a gold medal in his hands.

"When she comes to see you," Ian murmurs quietly, before slipping the photo in his back pocket. "I suggest you be surprised."

"And Louise," he adds a moment later, already on his way to the door. "Just to be clear, if you question me ever again, I won't hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes."

.

He's waiting for her in the dark, hiding in the shadows next to the door, only to grab her the moment she comes in. He pushes her backwards, _just a little too harsh,_ pinning her body against the wall with his.

"Where's my son, love," he whispers against her ear, enjoying the way her body starts to tremble under his touch. _She always liked it rough._

"He's safe," she replies, not even trying to fight him. "Just like I promised."

"He better be," Ian murmurs sharply, pinning her arms above her head, bruising her skin with his bare hands.

"I want to see him," he states. "And I'm not talking about a _fucking_ picture, love." He lifts his head, his gaze meeting hers, his lips only inches from hers.

"I'll arrange something," she breathes, unblinking, showing not even the slightest hint of fear.

"Now that that's out of the way," she adds, pulling him close against her body with a leg slung around his waist. "I think we should..." her voice trails off, and Ian feels his lips curl into a smile.

The hunger in her eyes matching his.

.

"All done?" Ian asks when he slips onto the backseat of his car just a few hours later.

Liam nods, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror from where he's sitting behind the wheel.

"All done."

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 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**


	4. Four

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: dark &twisty and all that because it's Emily&Ian after all (slightly Emily&Aaron/Emily&Spencer) (set in the middle of season 4)**

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 **One Hand On The Trigger**

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 _-"And if I'm right, we're headed straight for hell."- Miranda Lambert_

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 **Four**

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She knows it's Ian's doing the second she gets a look at the crime scene.

 _You got what you wanted. Now it's my turn._

"Why did Hotch want us to take a look at this?" she asks, taking an involuntary step back.

 _Where's my son?_

"Someone called and asked for the BAU," Spencer murmurs from where he's crouched down next to the dead body. "But it must have been a misunderstanding. I think we should call Hotch."

 _I want to see him. And I'm not talking about a fucking picture, love._

Emily nods, slowly turning around to face the crowd gathered around the scene. It doesn't take long until she finds who she's looking for, Ian leaning casually against a tree on the other side of the street, confirming what she already knew.

She moves without thinking.

"Emily? Where are you going? Hotch said-"

"I need to pee," she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind and as childish as it is, it does the trick. His cheeks turned crimson, Reid mumbles something unintelligible, before turning his attention to his cell phone.

Emily almost feels guilty.

By the time she turns around, Ian's already on his way down the street.

.

Emily follows him as briskly as possible without drawing attention, but loses sight of him quickly and when she finally rounds the corner, Ian's nowhere to be seen.

"Damn it!"

Cursing under her breath Emily turns left and right, walking up and down the sidewalk, searching her surroundings even though she knows it's useless.

"Where have you been?" Reid asks when she returns to the crime scene, looking all flushed and worried.

"I told you," Emily murmurs, her eyes still scanning the street.

Reid shakes his head. "You've been gone half an hour, Emily. Hotch told me to-" he starts and stops, blushing. "I mean-"

Emily frowns. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing, I mean..."

"Reid?"

"I just-" His cheeks turn even redder than before and Emily shuts her eyes.

.

Back at the office Emily doesn't bother playing nice.

"You told Reid to babysit me?" she states a little too loudly on her way into Aaron's office.

"That's not what I said," he answers from behind his desk, his hands raised defensively. He looks worried and Emily feels her patience fade.

"Your choice of words don't really make a difference!" she snaps, fully aware of the fact that the whole office is watching them. She expects Aaron to get up and close the door, but to her surprise he doesn't.

"The person who called this in didn't just ask for the BAU, Emily. The person who called this in asked specifically for _you._ "

"And that excuses the fact that you told Reid to keep an eye on me?" Emily just gives him a blank stare.

"Do you have any idea why someone would ask for you?" Aaron asks, his dark eyes searching hers for an answer. "Did you know him? Corelli?"

Emily doesn't even blink. "No," she says, selling the lie with ease.

Aaron nods. "Alright," he murmurs thoughtfully, holding her gaze. "That guy from Interpol keeps calling," he continues, his voice all strained and wrong. "You said you'd take care of that."

"I did," Emily lies.

"Do you need help?"

Emily chuckles. "No."

"Of course not," Aaron mutters quietly, shaking his head. _Sighs_. "Have you been in my apartment lately?"

Caught completely off guard, Emily stares in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

He looks uncomfortable.

"Someone was in my apartment and the only other person with a key is you."

Emily blinks. "Did you report it?"

"I don't think anything is missing."

"Then how do you even know someone was in there?" Emily asks, a frown forming on her face.

Aaron stays quiet and Emily feels the need to defend herself, even though she's got nothing to do with it.

"It wasn't me," she states, her voice firm but even. "And as for your key, if you want it back I-" She turns in the direction of the door, but before she can even muster a step, Aaron gets up, rounding his desk.

"Emily," he starts, his voice heavy with emotion. He reaches for her, his fingers circling her sore wrist in an all too tender gesture. The faint pain making her wish for _more_ , and she thinks that if the door and the blinds were closed she might just...

Aaron shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, taking a step back and away from her; _letting go._

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 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**


	5. Five

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to its rightful owners.**

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: dark &twisty (it's Ian&Emily after all)**

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 **One Hand On The Trigger**

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 _-"And if I'm right, we're headed straight for hell."- Miranda Lambert_

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 **Five**

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Ian watches from the other side of the street, hiding behind the darkened windows of his car, observing the agent and his son as they leave the apartment building together.

He waits until their car has disappeared down the street and then a beat longer to make sure they're really gone, before he slips out of his own.

Getting into the building is almost too easy, even more so is getting into his apartment, the security system a sad joke, just like Liam told him it would be.

 _An FBI agent should know better, shouldn't he?_

His apartment is neat and clean, except for a few toy cars on the kitchen table, but also much more personal than Emily's. There are pictures on the shelves, drawings on the fridge, and Ian even finds a box filled with yearbooks in the back of a closet. Yet, there's no sign that Emily's ever been here before, and Ian can't stop wondering if that's Emily's decision or Aaron's.

.

Waiting for her at the crime scene, hiding in plain sight, is exhilarating to say the least, even for Ian.

Of course she knows it's his doing the second she gets a look at the dead body. He's made sure of it.

When she turns around to search the crowd, he steps into her line of sight on purpose. The flicker of excitement in her eyes so much more than he'd hoped for.

.

When she comes home that night he's already there, watching TV from where he's sprawled out on her bed.

She's not surprised to see him, but she's fucking furious.

"What did you do that for?" she snaps, her eyes burning with rage the moment they meet his.

"Hello, love. How was your day?"

"Don't _fuck_ around, Ian. This isn't a BAU case, no one would have called us, unless someone-"

"Unless someone asked specifically for you?" He gives her a smug smile, patting the empty space on the mattress next to him. "Join me, love, would you?"

"I'm not in the mood."

"And I wasn't asking."

Emily laughs, a challenging look on her face. "What if I don't?" she teases. "Are you ready to put a bullet between me eyes, too? Or is Liam hiding in the kitchen to do the dirty work for you?"

"You might want to stop right there," Ian warns and thinks about tying her to the bed, just to remind her who she's talking to.

"Do you have any idea what's going to happen to me if-"

"It's a little late for regret now, don't you think?" He cuts her off and gets up, crossing the room in two strides.

When he reaches for her hands, harsh enough to make it hurt, she doesn't flinch. His eyes locked with hers, he pins her arms above her head, pressing her backwards against the wall before slipping his hands into the waistband of her pants.

"Admit it," he mocks her softly, when he finds her just as wet as he thought she'd be. "You don't really give a _fuck_ about any of it."

.

"You went to Aaron's apartment, haven't you?" she states later, sitting on the kitchen counter in nothing but his shirt, watching him intensely.

He shrugs, throwing a look over his shoulder where he's standing at the stove, making dinner.

"I was curious."

"He's got nothing to do with this."

"Are you _bloody_ kidding me? The other night he _fucked_ you bent over his office desk. Of course he's got something to do with this." Wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, he turns around to face her. There's something in her eyes he can't quite explain.

"I'll tell you what, love," he starts, feigning generosity, while moving towards her. "I promise I'll leave he and his son alone as well as all your other little friends at the BAU, but you have to do something in return first."

"What do you want me to do?"

Ian smiles, bending forward to cup her face between his hands in an almost gentle gesture.

"I'll tell you when the time is right," he promises. "But just to be clear, there's no going back from this, love."

"There never was," Emily muses, her lips close against his, and Ian can't help but close the tiny gap between them to press his lips roughly against hers.

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 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to its rightful owners.**


	6. Six

**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to its rightful owners.**

 **AN:** **Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: light smut, dark &twisty**

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 **One Hand On The Trigger**

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 _-"And if I'm right, we're headed straight for hell."- Miranda Lambert_

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 **Six**

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"Are you trying to make your paperwork disappear by just staring at it?"

"Maybe," Emily mutters, not even looking up from the stack of folders in front of her.

"That's not going to work, princess."

"I'm not your _fucking_ princess," Emily declares sharply, offering Morgan an angry glare from over her desk. "Next time you call me that I promise you'll regret it."

Morgan chuckles, clearly not impressed, and Emily feels an overwhelming need to prove him wrong. Before she has a second to do so she notices a movement to her left and spots Aaron on his way out of his office, his eyes dark, his body tense.

"Prentiss!" he calls for her, his voice all wrong. "My office! Now!"

"What did you do this time?" Morgan frowns, and Emily smiles.

"I had an encounter with Strauss this morning."

Morgan furrows his brow. "What happened?"

Emily shrugs. "I just-

"Prentiss!" Aaron calls again, louder this time, and Emily notices people turning their heads. She rolls her eyes.

"Doesn't matter," she murmurs, getting up, people staring now, while she makes her way up the stairs to where Aaron is waiting for her in the open doorframe to his office. The look on his face impossible to read, even for her.

The moment she steps past him, he throws the door shut, _actually turns the bloody lock_ , before closing the blinds.

"In your office in the middle of the day?" Emily mocks with raised brows. "Kinky."

"That's not funny, Emily! What on earth were you thinking?"

He motions for her to sit down, but she doesn't, keeps watching him instead while he rounds his desk, only to stop halfway.

"She wants you gone," he adds, calmer now, his voiced heavy with frustration. "I don't know how to fix this."

"Then don't."

He turns slightly, his eyes finding hers. "I don't think you understand how serious this is."

"I don't think you understand how little I care."

"What is going on with you?" he asks, softer now, and Emily doesn't like the way he's searching her eyes for an answer she doesn't want him to find.

"You didn't close the blinds to talk to me, did you?" she wonders, closing the gap between them with sure steps. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink when she reaches for his belt with steady hands. She pushes him back against the table, already down on her knees when he stops her suddenly, his hands coming close around hers before he pulls her back up to her feet, forcing her to look at him.

"I don't want to lose you, Emily."

Drawing backwards she shuts her eyes, sounding more confident than she feels when she tells him: "I've never been yours to lose to begin with."

.

"What are you planning to do?" Emily asks, her eyes watching the shadows on the ceiling from where she's laying next to Ian, the bed sheets tangled between their naked bodies.

"Leaving."

"I know, but where do you plan-"

"Home, love. We're going home. Thanks to you it'll be the last place anyone will come looking for us."

"You can't be sure," Emily notes quietly. "I lied when I wrote your profile, but-"

"Are you doubting me?" Ian asks, his voice slightly raised, not a question but a warning. "Tell Declan and Louise to be ready," he adds, and Emily forces herself not to flinch when she feels his hand move between her legs. Her body betraying her by its immediate reaction, giving away how much she's longing for his touch even when she's sore.

"You can tell them yourself," she gasps, trapped somewhere between pain and lust, when she feels his fingers start to move inside of her. "I told you I arranged-"

"I changed my mind," he cuts her off, a dangerous edge to his tone, and Emily bites her lip to hold back a moan.

"When are you going to leave?"

"Soon," he murmurs, withdrawing his hand before rolling over, his body hovering over hers. "And when we do," he announces, entering her hard enough to make her groan in pleasure. "You're going to leave with us."

.

"When?" Louise asks.

"I don't know," Emily murmurs, her eyes fixed on the kitchen counter, willing her hands around the glass to stop trembling. "Soon I guess."

"What about Tom?"

"I'm not sure," Emily half whispers, her eyes shut tightly. Realizing just then that she never thought this through.

"He won't let the boy go."

 _No. Of course not._

Emily grabs the glass tighter, wishing it would give way under her grip. Wishing for it to break, wishing for it to cut her skin to make her feel something other than guilt. It won't matter if she's the one to pull the trigger or not, she'd condemned Tom to die years ago when she asked for his help.

"You need to be ready," Emily reminds Louise once more, pushing herself to move and leaving her glass in the kitchen sink before heading for the back door. She needs to leave before Tom or Declan wake up.

"Are you coming with us?"

Louise's words make her stop, and with her hand on the doorknob Emily looks back at the older woman.

"Where else could I go?" she whispers hoarsely, and for one moment there's nothing but regret, nothing but guilt. Nothing but remorse. But then she turns and steps out into the night and it's gone.

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 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to its rightful owners.**


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